Whispers of Yesterday - Chapter Two
Apr. 29th, 2011 10:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Morning, lovelies! Today is supposed to be a ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
freeficfriday in which I bring you a chapter of Break of Day. Unfortunately, Writer's Block and exams contributed to a lack of edited chapters therefore, I don't have a chapter of Break of Day ready. Instead, you guys get a chappie of Whispers of Yesterday, and freeficfriday gets to see Master and Commander. Win-win for everyone! Keep in mind that this chapter hasn't been beta'ed either!
So without further adieu, please enjoy chapter two of Whispers of Yesterday, the sequel to The Edge of Tomorrow.
Title: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Warnings: smut, het smut, hints to slashy goodness, violence, language
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
Her worries abated, Ione finally clued in to the rapid-fire argument taking place at her back, the many outspoken members of the Theravada in complete disagreement. Frowning, she focused on what was being said, the topic appearing to be what, exactly, to do with their captive.
“She’s seen you, Azriel,” Talya was arguing, her face flushed with annoyance as her familiar, Kalulu, huddled behind her right foot. “The opportunity to simply release her has long since passed.”
Gale, arms crossed over his chest, nodded slowly in agreement. His eyes flickered to Ione and red darkened his cheeks before he hastily looked away. Yeah, that could be awkward. So rather than flocking to his side as Ione normally would, she stayed glued next to Sabriel. There were more important things than her and Gale’s drama at the moment.
“Then we have to decide what to do,” Azriel said quietly, looking quite torn as he rubbed fingers over his forehead where an ache was no doubt developing. He also appeared haggard, fatigue making him seem much older. The war was easy for no one.
Kieran shrugged, every ounce of his usually cheerful and playful personality all but vanished. “Kill her,” he suggested, and Ione was shocked with how flatly he made the suggestion. “It would be kinder.”
Ishmael shook his head from where he stood leaning against the wall, face streaked with soot and clothes singed but otherwise looking intact. “She may know something that could be use.”
“He has a point,” Ione found herself inserting quietly, effectively announcing her presence. “Dharva’s a captain and was one of Holmes’ favorites. Though I can tell you now, you won’t sway her to our cause.”
“But it’s not like we can trust what she says either,” Kieran argued.
Sabriel turned, his gaze flicking briefly over Dharva’s immobilized form, the woman bound and gagged, but able to witness the argument nevertheless. “We can if I get the truth out of her,” he said.
Ione blinked. What the hell was Sabriel talking about? And come to think of it, Ione didn’t know what Sabriel’s position in Meropis had been before he abandoned Grayshire. There was a certain tone to his voice, a look in his eyes, however, that made Ione wonder why she had never thought to ask. And why the Sabriel she thought she knew could suddenly sound so cold and ruthless.
“That’s not an option,” Azriel said with a note of finality, but he wasn’t the only one to have spoken.
“You may have a point,” Gale added thoughtfully, in obvious agreement with his cousin.
Ione gaped, speechless. It was like a flip had been switched, her normally goofy and blushing lover had become this hard-edged, ruthless man right before her eyes. Ione had only seen him like this once before – icy and focused – and that was right before they snuck into Meropis’ prisons to rescue their friends.
Azriel’s lips firmed. “Gale--”
“Commander Wyndham would have done the same thing and you know it,” Gale said sharply, his eyes flashing. “Just ask Siobhan. And then tell me that it’s not worth it.”
“They already beat us in numbers and total strength,” Ishmael added, ever the tactician, something that belied his youthful appearance. “And you know their violence is only increasing. We have to take what edges we can get.”
Kieran nodded in agreement. “We also can’t be sure we’ll get a chance like this again. We’re in a war after all.”
Talya looked aghast, much like Ione felt. She could hardly believe her ears. Sure, Ione didn’t like Dharva that much and had defeated the captain on a previous occasion. She’d also severely injured Dharva and shed no tears over that fact. Though last Ione had heard, Dharva was in a coma. Either Faye was lying, or the captain had made a miraculous recovery.
Still, that didn’t mean Ione was ready to stand here and watch them torture Dharva either. The very thought made her queasy to the core. Harming Dharva in the middle of a duel or battle was one thing. Torturing her in favor of gathering information about Grayshire was a whole different story. A part of her couldn’t believe that Gale – sweet, naïve, clumsy Gale – and her uncle– goofy, affectionate, loud Kieran – were the ones pushing the hardest to do just that.
“And so what? We just consent to torture her?” Helene demanded hotly, and Ione startled at her appearance. She hadn’t even realized Helene had fully entered the basement. “That would make us just like them!”
A flash of aether pulsed through the room, making nearly everyone stagger, especially Ione who gasped and felt a rush of dizziness. The aether was full of agitation, a torrent of confusion but also determination as well. And it didn’t take Ione long to recognize who it came from.
“We are not torturing anyone,” Azriel said firmly, daring someone to argue. His kind and gentle demeanor vanished, leaving behind the firm, capable leader Ione knew him to be. “We need information, yes, but not like that.” His eyes flickered to Gale. “I know it’s necessary and I know why you suggested it, but let’s leave that training in Grayshire where it belongs.”
Ione held her breath in anticipation as tension filled the air, the two leaders of Paragon staring at each other before Gale nodded, his gaze shifting away. He very rarely opposed Azriel’s decision on the matter. In fact, rarely did anyone find reason to contest Azriel. Not out of fear, but out of respect for Azriel’s intelligence and honor.
“I hold no love for Grayshire either. Especially Holmes and anyone else who might have followed him eagerly,” Siobhan said quietly, her soft voice surprisingly cutting the tense silence. “But if we become like them, what are we fighting to change?”
If there was anyone in the room who had the right to protest, it was Siobhan. Of them all, she had the most cause for revenge, the most reason to want to inflict pain on a member of the Brigade. It had been Holmes to imprison and torture her for information on Paragon and Azriel’s identity. He was the reason she couldn’t use her dominant hand as well anymore, the delicate bones in her fingers mangled beyond recognition and reducing her dexterity, something of necessity for all her labwork. Holmes was also the reason for the scars she would always bear: lash marks on her back, burns on her thighs and upper arms, and knife slices on her left cheek.
Grayson snorted, understanding Siobhan’s position but wanting revenge for his own sake. Holmes had killed his wife, and in turn, Gale had killed Holmes. But the need for vengeance still weighed heavily inside of Grayson.
“Fine, no torture. What then? Bring her tea and crumpets every day at noon, provide only the best lodgings? You can’t possibly think we can keep a captain-class member of the Brigade here indefinitely.”
“Killing her in cold blood isn’t an option either,” Talya snapped back sharply, anger flashing in her eyes. She had moved until she stood in front of the bars of the cell, as though determined to protect Dharva. “If you’re that worried about her escaping, then fine, I’ll stand here and guard her every day. But I won’t watch you execute her like we are the bunch of savages Grayshire claims us to be.”
Kieran sighed, dragging a hand through his messy dark hair. “That won’t be necessary, Talya. I can create a barrier strong enough and the suppression herbs should work just fine on her magic. It’ll be aggravating but not difficult.”
Azriel dropped his hand from his forehead, looking as if he wanted nothing more than a warm bed immediately followed by a nap. “We are still in need of information. Helene, if you’d like, you can oversee the questioning. Kieran, make sure her cell is secure. Ishmael, get yourself to the hospice so Cyrus can look at your wounds. Everyone else, be on alert. Grayshire will notice one of their top captains is missing.”
His authority dispelled the tension, leaving no room for anyone to argue. A chorus of nods and acceptance echoed around the room. Azriel, satisfied by this, considered his words a dismissal and left the room, others trickling along after him. Ione, however, turned back to the cell, looking in at her former captain, the same woman she had once defeated in a duel.
Yellow eyes returned her glance with a hatred so vile Ione felt a shiver creep down her back. Dharva wanted to do her harm. More than that, Dharva would have liked to kill her and wouldn’t think twice about it. Ione didn’t have to ask Dharva to see that, and had Dharva access to her aether, Ione was sure she’d be feeling it rake across her skin. The captain didn’t seem at all grateful that her life had been spared torture and execution.
“Ione,” Helene murmured, suddenly appearing at Ione’s side and nearly startling her. “Now would be a good time for that discussion we talked about.”
Ione’s gaze flickered to Gale, who was deep in conversation with Kieran, possibly discussing the best sort of barrier to use. “I know,” she said.
Helene, satisfied, turned and left Ione alone with a departing comment about bathing. After sniffing herself – and smelling stale sweat and the clinging odors of smoke – Ione thought about taking one for herself as well. Sheer politeness had probably been the only thing keeping the others from wrinkling their noses in disgust – she reeked. A change of clothes was also definitely in order.
Ione glanced one last time at Dharva, unable to dredge up a single ounce of pity. Dharva might not have been the one to kill Ophelia, but she would have endorsed Holmes’ actions wholeheartedly. And Ione had long suspected Dharva was the one to realize just whom Fenris was and report Ione as a traitor. Ione held no love for the Misae noble.
Ione turned her back to the cell, catching Talya’s gaze as the woman stood by, hands folded over her chest defiantly. “Dharva’s tricky,” Ione warned, feeling she owed them at least that much. “I know you’re trying to be humane here, but you give her an inch, she’ll take a mile.”
“I am no fool,” Talya said, her body stiff and her voice tight. “I’ve no intention of loosening her bonds or being particularly kind.” Her eyes cut toward the captive noble, hardening further, until they were little more than pools of black. “I just didn’t want to see us stoop to their level.”
Ione inclined her head. “I agree,” she said, and her eyes drifted back to her lover. She was still annoyed with him, no doubt, but she couldn’t deny how attractive he was. And while she had been surprised by his stance on Dharva’s existence, she had also been impressed by his very presence. A confident Gale was a rare sight indeed.
Gale and Kieran parted ways, the former leaving, and Ione took the opportunity to greet her uncle before taking her leave.
“Dharva’s specialty is fire,” Ione said, sidestepping Kieran’s initial affectionate hug and letting him get away with a side embrace that didn’t attempt to crush her ribs. “So focus your barrier with water binding.”
Kieran nodded, practically vibrating with energy. This was the uncle she knew, the happy-go-lucky, half-idiot, rather than the ruthless man she had seen not but moments before. It confused Ione, but then, there were many years in Kieran’s life that Ione did not know. Years when she had known him to be exiled and hadn’t known if he was alive or dead. It wasn’t impossible that her uncle had changed in that time. The war, it seemed, was changing everyone.
“Thanks for the heads up,” Kieran said, and grinned at her. “Though might I suggest a bath, my niece? You’re rather, shall we say, pungent?”
Ione rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you later, Uncle Kieran,” she said, and made her escape, deftly avoiding another vine-grasping embrace. Kieran’s affections were rather exasperating, though Ione admitted – if only to herself – indulging in them out of a longing for her own family.
She hadn’t seen her parents or her brothers in a year now, not since she had been forced to abandon Grayshire for fear of her life. Sure, Ione had received letters from her family, stealthily delivered from undercover members of the Theravada, but it wasn’t the same as experiencing one of Souya’s training attacks or Toren’s backbreaking hugs or her mother’s lace cookies or Jeredu’s nagging and Damon ruffling her hair.
Ione missed her family. She enjoyed the new friends she had made at Paragon and it was always nice to see her crazy uncle, but she worried for her family still in Moriarty. She worried that the upper-crust and Lord Wyndham might decide that her parents and brothers were just as guilty of treason as Ione. And here Ione was, in Paragon, unable to protect them. Though a part of her was also pretty certain nothing could kill Souya short of a meteoric impact.
Sighing to herself, Ione brushed sweat-soaked strands off her forehead and stepped back into the cool corridors of Paragon, aiming for the stairs that would lead to the upper levels. However, someone was lying in wait for her just outside the doors and Ione nearly startled.
“Gale.”
He pushed himself off the wall, arms falling to his side as he looked everywhere but directly at her. “Enjoy your run?”
“Yes,” she said, and stopped herself before she started to shift from foot to foot.
Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what hung in the air between them. “Until we found Benchley smoldering and abandoned, it was great.” She couldn’t hide the anger in her voice, the desire to go out and wreak a little havoc of her own on Grayshire. See how the uppity nobles liked having their homes burned to ash.
Ione started up the corridor and Gale fell into line beside her, folding his arms into his sleeves. It was a nervous habit Ione had discovered months ago. Good. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling the awkwardness.
“The Brigade again?”
Ah, business talk. It was safe, neutral territory, effectively skirting around their little… ahem… disagreement of this morning. Not that one could tell. The bruise that should have been on Gale’s cheek had faded to a mere shadow. By nightfall, it would be completely gone. Ione envied her lover for his speedy healing. If it had been her, she’d have been visibly bruised for three days, and sore for half as long. Not that Gale would ever hit her.
Come to think of it, Ione really should apologize for throwing the vase. And the punch. Gale’s actions weren’t really deserving of either. Not if she factored in the matter of him being clueless at interacting with normal people. Ione should cut him a little slack.
“As near as we could tell,” Ione answered with a shrug, and contemplated adding more details but really, she and Helene hadn’t stuck around long enough to investigate. They’d only confirmed that their help wasn’t needed and then left immediately, wary of whatever the Brigade might have left behind.
Silence swelled between them, heavy with unease. Ione quickly sought to fill it before the sound of their footsteps grew too loud.
“So… how did Ishmael get a hold of Dharva in the first place?” It was a good question, considering Ione knew how difficult of an opponent Dharva could be.
Gale tilted his head to the side, strands of white-blond hair sliding across his forehead. “Pure luck. The two patrols stumbled onto each other and Ishmael came out on top.”
Despite herself, Ione had a sudden, disturbing mental image of Ishmael and Dharva wrestling for sexual dominance. Naked. While Ione didn’t mind picturing Ishmael naked – he was attractive for all his gangly awkwardness and perfectly legal – the thought of her former captain in the buff made Ione shiver and not in a good way.
She blanched. “I see,” Ione said, and perhaps a bit too vividly or that. She cursed her imagination, known to be far too active at times.
More awkward silence descended. Ione snuck another glance at Gale who was pointedly not looking at her. She knew she needed to heed Helene’s advice and talk to Gale. Their disagreement weighed heavily on her thoughts. But more than that, she was curious about what she had just witnessed. And since Ione and Subtle had never been acquaintances, Ione knew of only one other way to ask Gale about his behavior.
“Gale?”
“Hmm?”
“What did Azriel mean about leaving things to Grayshire?” Ione asked bluntly, her voice carrying no further than their ears. “And why was Sabriel so sure he could get Dharva to talk?”
Gale visibly stiffened and drew to a halt, forcing Ione to stop as well. He chewed on his bottom lip, shifting uncomfortably, before sighing audibly. Vivid green eyes finally lifted to Ione as he looked at her.
“Sabriel used to be a member of the Special Ops,” Gale admitted quietly, looking uncomfortable at having to reveal such information. “Not just any trine, however, but one limited to nobles and chosen specifically by the Arlen family. It was an elite trine that took assignments considered too dangerous and controversial for the Special Ops and technically, it didn’t exist.”
Ione felt a discomfiting, sick sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Controversial?”
“Political assassinations. Preventative assassinations. Suicide missions. And more importantly, the keepers of Naraka.” Gale’s eyes had dropped again as though it were more than he had ever wanted to tell her.
Swallowing thickly, Ione processed the information. “What’s Naraka?”
Gale looked around nervously and reached out, hooking a hand around her elbow. “Something I can’t talk about in the middle of the hallway,” he said quietly, sounding serious, just like he had been back in the basement. This was High Lord Arlen before her right now, not the rebel Gale and her lover.
Ione had to admit that she found the dichotomy between the two to be jarring.
She allowed him to tug her gently down the hallway, no doubt to somewhere more private. They were far from their shared quarters, but the library was near and Ione wasn’t surprised when he pulled her toward it. This time of day, it was unlikely to be patroned by anyone other than Ishmael and he probably already knew this particular secret.
“Sometimes,” Gale continued quietly as they walked at a steady pace, “Grayshire wanted someone disposed of which usually meant death. But there were also cases where the information that person carried was too valuable to lose permanently. Or there were others who had been accused of treason but Grayshire had no proof. Or those that were considered dangerous but still possibly useful in the future.”
Gale pulled her into the library, the door swinging shut behind them and swallowing all sense of the sound. It was utterly silent in the library, and still, almost intimate. But Ione’s thoughts were far from sex. She didn’t like the direction Gale’s explanation was going, but could hardly tell him to stop. Truth was rarely pretty, and just because she didn’t want to hear it, didn’t mean Ione didn’t need to.
“Basically, Naraka is a containment center, a place for undesirables that couldn’t be killed, but couldn’t be allowed to roam free either.”
A few rows back and in a secluded corner, Gale finally released her arm, his eyes carefully shielded as he leaned against the bookcase behind them. “Sabriel was part of the trine that carried out Grayshire’s orders regarding those undesirables, and helped keep them in their place.”
“That’s… awful,” Ione said, words failing her. Awful didn’t even begin to cover what she wanted to say, but frankly, Ione was feeling quite speechless. Every time she thought she had come to grips with the depth of Grayshire’s misdeeds, some other truth came out to slap her in the face, taunting her with her ignorance.
Gale closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. “I told you the sorts of things my family was involved in. You even read them for yourself. Who do you think gave the order? And just who do you think carried it out, Ione?”
That sick sensation in the pit of Ione’s stomach spread through all her innards, and she knew her face had to be chalky white. She remembered their initial conversation, remembered Gale admitting why he had abandoned Grayshire, what had forced him to that decision. Ione remembered that vividly, but had never followed his words, the facts to their logical conclusion. Gale hadn’t been just a witness; he’d been involved.
“You…?”
“Sabriel was only the hand. I’m just as guilty as him for issuing the command,” Gale said, sounding tired at the memory.
Not that Ione was entirely blameless. She had defeated and hauled in countless rebels while a member of the Brigade. She’d never stopped to consider what would happen to them after she had captured them. How could she have known that they were immediately executed? Or tortured? Or kept prisoner in something like Naraka?
It struck her, just then, how very little she actually knew about Gale. Sure they’d been dating or lovers or whatever they wanted to call it for the past year. She knew that his throat was sensitive and he had a fixation on touching and being touched. She knew that he liked to read, contrary to popular belief, and that he played the piano beautifully. She knew that he was fond of grand displays of magic and he sucked at dealing with people.
But Ione hadn’t known this. She hadn’t known this other side of Gale, the darker, more Grayshire side of him that had been born and bred in nobility. She hadn’t known the side that could so calmly and coldly suggest using torture against an enemy just for a scrap of information.
To be fair, Ione hadn’t known Sabriel could be that ruthless. Or her uncle Kieran for that matter either. It made her wonder what else she had missed, what else they weren’t telling her. It made her doubt, and Ione hated that. She didn’t want to second guess herself; she didn’t want to question those she had come to see as a second family. She didn’t want to doubt.
“Ione?”
Gale sounded worried, his composure cracking, and Ione startled, realizing she had drifted off in her thoughts and how it must have looked to Gale. There was a noticeable distance between them, small but subtle, as they leaned against opposite bookcases. It must have appeared like a rejection to Gale, though Ione hadn’t intended it. Still…. She needed to process. She needed to think, and she couldn’t do it while looking right at him.
She shook her head, rubbing her hands briefly over her arms where a sudden and strange chill had suddenly overcome her. “I didn’t… I didn’t know any of this,” Ione said, her mind whirling and whirling, making her head ache and her stomach clench. A bitter laugh bubbled up in the back of her throat but she swallowed it down before Gale thought her crazy. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Gale shifted uncomfortably, and she could see his fingers flexing beneath the covering of his sleeves. He was nervous, anxious, and Ione’s less than convincing reaction wasn’t making things any better. Ione didn’t know how to fix that. Was less worried about reassuring Gale than she was her own state of mind. She didn’t want to say or do something she’d regret.
She didn’t want to doubt.
“It’s not exactly something you can bring up in casual conversation,” Gale admitted. “I couldn’t just come out and tell you, by the way, my cousin is an assassin and I told him who to kill.” His voice was edged, bitter, and he chanced a glance at her before skittering away. “It is not exactly something we’re proud of.”
Ione gathered not. She felt much the same regarding her position in the Brigade. She’d worked long and hard to prove herself, to rise and take the spot of a lieutenant. She’d bitten and clawed and fought to show those damned nobles that even a commoner could lead. But now… Ione was hard pressed to call herself proud. What had she done that was truly worthwhile? How many people had she condemned to death for no other reason than Grayshire’s wounded pride?
There was so much she didn’t know. And Ione had the feeling there was even more seething beneath the surface. Stories her uncle could tell her. Things Azriel could reveal. Maybe even Gale had deeper, darker secrets. And a small, childish part of her didn’t want to know, wanted to dance in the sunlight and pretend the world was roses just to ignore the seething blackness that crawled at her feet.
Ione sighed, and resisted the urge to rub at her temples, understanding Azriel just a bit in that moment. “I need to think,” she said, wanting to say so many other things but unable to vocalize them properly. She still liked Gale, this didn’t change the way she felt about him. But she had to admit that it might have skewed the way she looked at him, and Ione didn’t want that.
Gale stiffened, the motion subtle, but Ione had been with him long enough to read his body language like a book. He nodded slowly. “I’ll leave you alone then,” he said, and turned to go.
Ione couldn’t let him leave like that, a thousand wrong things probably dancing in the back of his mind. She reached out, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to turn and look at her. Surprise flickered across his face, his eyes such a bright green, as her lips closed over his in a sloppy kiss that was awkward considering their positioning. But Ione didn’t relent. She moved her mouth over his in familiar ways, tracing his lips with her tongue until she heard him make a small sound in his throat and finally respond. His arm curled around her, pulling her tight against him as he returned the kiss.
Ione remembered a time when Gale had been so inexperienced, when his kisses had been sloppy and messy but still good. He’d only improved in the past year, his mouth moving skillfully against her, his tongue stroking hers in all the right places. His teeth nibbling at her lips, the pressure of his mouth neither dominating nor submitting. His fingers fluttered against her back and he smelled of metal and rainstorms. He must have been sparring someone before coming down to the basement.
A moan fluttered in Ione’s throat as their bodies pressed together, warm and welcoming, Gale all long limbs and planes of muscle against her. She forgot why she was supposed to be annoyed with him, and suddenly remembered just how quiet and unoccupied the library was. Now was certainly not the time, however, so Ione stored that idea away for later reference. It was past time she introduced Gale to semi-public sex and the thrill of maybe getting caught.
Ione ended the kiss with a parting nip to his bottom lip and reluctance flooding through her. She wanted to push Gale against the bookcase and rock his world, but she also needed to think. And she couldn’t do that with her tongue shoved in his mouth.
“I just need to think,” Ione said, forcing Gale to meet her eyes, to understand before he started thinking impossibly negative things. “To digest. This doesn’t change us. I promise.”
He nodded shortly, eyes a little glazed, lips slick and begging to be kissed again. Ione refrained from doing so, knowing she’d want to carry things further if she did which would only be a stalling technique. The childish part of her that wanted to hide in the corner and pretend the world was rainbows and sparkling waters.
They could solve whatever petty argument they’d had before later. Right now, Ione needed to process, to remind herself of why she had joined the Theravada. To chase away those nagging doubts that were making her hesitate, make her question.
Ione untangled herself from Gale’s embrace and squeezing his arm affectionately, made her exit from the library, forcing down the lovely tingling in her body. She had never been with anyone who could affect her like Gale. She didn’t know if it was because their mana were compatible or because Gale was so different, or if there was something more carnal, more intrinsic about their relationship.
Inhaling slowly, Ione shook her head and tried to focus her thoughts. First, a bath, lunch, and then perhaps she could coax someone into sparring with her. Ione always thought better in the midst of fighting. Her mind cleared, the world narrowed, and her thoughts flowed free. And right now, Ione could use a little clarity.
* * * *
freeficfriday in which I bring you a chapter of Break of Day. Unfortunately, Writer's Block and exams contributed to a lack of edited chapters therefore, I don't have a chapter of Break of Day ready. Instead, you guys get a chappie of Whispers of Yesterday, and freeficfriday gets to see Master and Commander. Win-win for everyone! Keep in mind that this chapter hasn't been beta'ed either!So without further adieu, please enjoy chapter two of Whispers of Yesterday, the sequel to The Edge of Tomorrow.
Title: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Warnings: smut, het smut, hints to slashy goodness, violence, language
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
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Chapter Two
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Chapter Two
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“She’s seen you, Azriel,” Talya was arguing, her face flushed with annoyance as her familiar, Kalulu, huddled behind her right foot. “The opportunity to simply release her has long since passed.”
Gale, arms crossed over his chest, nodded slowly in agreement. His eyes flickered to Ione and red darkened his cheeks before he hastily looked away. Yeah, that could be awkward. So rather than flocking to his side as Ione normally would, she stayed glued next to Sabriel. There were more important things than her and Gale’s drama at the moment.
“Then we have to decide what to do,” Azriel said quietly, looking quite torn as he rubbed fingers over his forehead where an ache was no doubt developing. He also appeared haggard, fatigue making him seem much older. The war was easy for no one.
Kieran shrugged, every ounce of his usually cheerful and playful personality all but vanished. “Kill her,” he suggested, and Ione was shocked with how flatly he made the suggestion. “It would be kinder.”
Ishmael shook his head from where he stood leaning against the wall, face streaked with soot and clothes singed but otherwise looking intact. “She may know something that could be use.”
“He has a point,” Ione found herself inserting quietly, effectively announcing her presence. “Dharva’s a captain and was one of Holmes’ favorites. Though I can tell you now, you won’t sway her to our cause.”
“But it’s not like we can trust what she says either,” Kieran argued.
Sabriel turned, his gaze flicking briefly over Dharva’s immobilized form, the woman bound and gagged, but able to witness the argument nevertheless. “We can if I get the truth out of her,” he said.
Ione blinked. What the hell was Sabriel talking about? And come to think of it, Ione didn’t know what Sabriel’s position in Meropis had been before he abandoned Grayshire. There was a certain tone to his voice, a look in his eyes, however, that made Ione wonder why she had never thought to ask. And why the Sabriel she thought she knew could suddenly sound so cold and ruthless.
“That’s not an option,” Azriel said with a note of finality, but he wasn’t the only one to have spoken.
“You may have a point,” Gale added thoughtfully, in obvious agreement with his cousin.
Ione gaped, speechless. It was like a flip had been switched, her normally goofy and blushing lover had become this hard-edged, ruthless man right before her eyes. Ione had only seen him like this once before – icy and focused – and that was right before they snuck into Meropis’ prisons to rescue their friends.
Azriel’s lips firmed. “Gale--”
“Commander Wyndham would have done the same thing and you know it,” Gale said sharply, his eyes flashing. “Just ask Siobhan. And then tell me that it’s not worth it.”
“They already beat us in numbers and total strength,” Ishmael added, ever the tactician, something that belied his youthful appearance. “And you know their violence is only increasing. We have to take what edges we can get.”
Kieran nodded in agreement. “We also can’t be sure we’ll get a chance like this again. We’re in a war after all.”
Talya looked aghast, much like Ione felt. She could hardly believe her ears. Sure, Ione didn’t like Dharva that much and had defeated the captain on a previous occasion. She’d also severely injured Dharva and shed no tears over that fact. Though last Ione had heard, Dharva was in a coma. Either Faye was lying, or the captain had made a miraculous recovery.
Still, that didn’t mean Ione was ready to stand here and watch them torture Dharva either. The very thought made her queasy to the core. Harming Dharva in the middle of a duel or battle was one thing. Torturing her in favor of gathering information about Grayshire was a whole different story. A part of her couldn’t believe that Gale – sweet, naïve, clumsy Gale – and her uncle– goofy, affectionate, loud Kieran – were the ones pushing the hardest to do just that.
“And so what? We just consent to torture her?” Helene demanded hotly, and Ione startled at her appearance. She hadn’t even realized Helene had fully entered the basement. “That would make us just like them!”
A flash of aether pulsed through the room, making nearly everyone stagger, especially Ione who gasped and felt a rush of dizziness. The aether was full of agitation, a torrent of confusion but also determination as well. And it didn’t take Ione long to recognize who it came from.
“We are not torturing anyone,” Azriel said firmly, daring someone to argue. His kind and gentle demeanor vanished, leaving behind the firm, capable leader Ione knew him to be. “We need information, yes, but not like that.” His eyes flickered to Gale. “I know it’s necessary and I know why you suggested it, but let’s leave that training in Grayshire where it belongs.”
Ione held her breath in anticipation as tension filled the air, the two leaders of Paragon staring at each other before Gale nodded, his gaze shifting away. He very rarely opposed Azriel’s decision on the matter. In fact, rarely did anyone find reason to contest Azriel. Not out of fear, but out of respect for Azriel’s intelligence and honor.
“I hold no love for Grayshire either. Especially Holmes and anyone else who might have followed him eagerly,” Siobhan said quietly, her soft voice surprisingly cutting the tense silence. “But if we become like them, what are we fighting to change?”
If there was anyone in the room who had the right to protest, it was Siobhan. Of them all, she had the most cause for revenge, the most reason to want to inflict pain on a member of the Brigade. It had been Holmes to imprison and torture her for information on Paragon and Azriel’s identity. He was the reason she couldn’t use her dominant hand as well anymore, the delicate bones in her fingers mangled beyond recognition and reducing her dexterity, something of necessity for all her labwork. Holmes was also the reason for the scars she would always bear: lash marks on her back, burns on her thighs and upper arms, and knife slices on her left cheek.
Grayson snorted, understanding Siobhan’s position but wanting revenge for his own sake. Holmes had killed his wife, and in turn, Gale had killed Holmes. But the need for vengeance still weighed heavily inside of Grayson.
“Fine, no torture. What then? Bring her tea and crumpets every day at noon, provide only the best lodgings? You can’t possibly think we can keep a captain-class member of the Brigade here indefinitely.”
“Killing her in cold blood isn’t an option either,” Talya snapped back sharply, anger flashing in her eyes. She had moved until she stood in front of the bars of the cell, as though determined to protect Dharva. “If you’re that worried about her escaping, then fine, I’ll stand here and guard her every day. But I won’t watch you execute her like we are the bunch of savages Grayshire claims us to be.”
Kieran sighed, dragging a hand through his messy dark hair. “That won’t be necessary, Talya. I can create a barrier strong enough and the suppression herbs should work just fine on her magic. It’ll be aggravating but not difficult.”
Azriel dropped his hand from his forehead, looking as if he wanted nothing more than a warm bed immediately followed by a nap. “We are still in need of information. Helene, if you’d like, you can oversee the questioning. Kieran, make sure her cell is secure. Ishmael, get yourself to the hospice so Cyrus can look at your wounds. Everyone else, be on alert. Grayshire will notice one of their top captains is missing.”
His authority dispelled the tension, leaving no room for anyone to argue. A chorus of nods and acceptance echoed around the room. Azriel, satisfied by this, considered his words a dismissal and left the room, others trickling along after him. Ione, however, turned back to the cell, looking in at her former captain, the same woman she had once defeated in a duel.
Yellow eyes returned her glance with a hatred so vile Ione felt a shiver creep down her back. Dharva wanted to do her harm. More than that, Dharva would have liked to kill her and wouldn’t think twice about it. Ione didn’t have to ask Dharva to see that, and had Dharva access to her aether, Ione was sure she’d be feeling it rake across her skin. The captain didn’t seem at all grateful that her life had been spared torture and execution.
“Ione,” Helene murmured, suddenly appearing at Ione’s side and nearly startling her. “Now would be a good time for that discussion we talked about.”
Ione’s gaze flickered to Gale, who was deep in conversation with Kieran, possibly discussing the best sort of barrier to use. “I know,” she said.
Helene, satisfied, turned and left Ione alone with a departing comment about bathing. After sniffing herself – and smelling stale sweat and the clinging odors of smoke – Ione thought about taking one for herself as well. Sheer politeness had probably been the only thing keeping the others from wrinkling their noses in disgust – she reeked. A change of clothes was also definitely in order.
Ione glanced one last time at Dharva, unable to dredge up a single ounce of pity. Dharva might not have been the one to kill Ophelia, but she would have endorsed Holmes’ actions wholeheartedly. And Ione had long suspected Dharva was the one to realize just whom Fenris was and report Ione as a traitor. Ione held no love for the Misae noble.
Ione turned her back to the cell, catching Talya’s gaze as the woman stood by, hands folded over her chest defiantly. “Dharva’s tricky,” Ione warned, feeling she owed them at least that much. “I know you’re trying to be humane here, but you give her an inch, she’ll take a mile.”
“I am no fool,” Talya said, her body stiff and her voice tight. “I’ve no intention of loosening her bonds or being particularly kind.” Her eyes cut toward the captive noble, hardening further, until they were little more than pools of black. “I just didn’t want to see us stoop to their level.”
Ione inclined her head. “I agree,” she said, and her eyes drifted back to her lover. She was still annoyed with him, no doubt, but she couldn’t deny how attractive he was. And while she had been surprised by his stance on Dharva’s existence, she had also been impressed by his very presence. A confident Gale was a rare sight indeed.
Gale and Kieran parted ways, the former leaving, and Ione took the opportunity to greet her uncle before taking her leave.
“Dharva’s specialty is fire,” Ione said, sidestepping Kieran’s initial affectionate hug and letting him get away with a side embrace that didn’t attempt to crush her ribs. “So focus your barrier with water binding.”
Kieran nodded, practically vibrating with energy. This was the uncle she knew, the happy-go-lucky, half-idiot, rather than the ruthless man she had seen not but moments before. It confused Ione, but then, there were many years in Kieran’s life that Ione did not know. Years when she had known him to be exiled and hadn’t known if he was alive or dead. It wasn’t impossible that her uncle had changed in that time. The war, it seemed, was changing everyone.
“Thanks for the heads up,” Kieran said, and grinned at her. “Though might I suggest a bath, my niece? You’re rather, shall we say, pungent?”
Ione rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you later, Uncle Kieran,” she said, and made her escape, deftly avoiding another vine-grasping embrace. Kieran’s affections were rather exasperating, though Ione admitted – if only to herself – indulging in them out of a longing for her own family.
She hadn’t seen her parents or her brothers in a year now, not since she had been forced to abandon Grayshire for fear of her life. Sure, Ione had received letters from her family, stealthily delivered from undercover members of the Theravada, but it wasn’t the same as experiencing one of Souya’s training attacks or Toren’s backbreaking hugs or her mother’s lace cookies or Jeredu’s nagging and Damon ruffling her hair.
Ione missed her family. She enjoyed the new friends she had made at Paragon and it was always nice to see her crazy uncle, but she worried for her family still in Moriarty. She worried that the upper-crust and Lord Wyndham might decide that her parents and brothers were just as guilty of treason as Ione. And here Ione was, in Paragon, unable to protect them. Though a part of her was also pretty certain nothing could kill Souya short of a meteoric impact.
Sighing to herself, Ione brushed sweat-soaked strands off her forehead and stepped back into the cool corridors of Paragon, aiming for the stairs that would lead to the upper levels. However, someone was lying in wait for her just outside the doors and Ione nearly startled.
“Gale.”
He pushed himself off the wall, arms falling to his side as he looked everywhere but directly at her. “Enjoy your run?”
“Yes,” she said, and stopped herself before she started to shift from foot to foot.
Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what hung in the air between them. “Until we found Benchley smoldering and abandoned, it was great.” She couldn’t hide the anger in her voice, the desire to go out and wreak a little havoc of her own on Grayshire. See how the uppity nobles liked having their homes burned to ash.
Ione started up the corridor and Gale fell into line beside her, folding his arms into his sleeves. It was a nervous habit Ione had discovered months ago. Good. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling the awkwardness.
“The Brigade again?”
Ah, business talk. It was safe, neutral territory, effectively skirting around their little… ahem… disagreement of this morning. Not that one could tell. The bruise that should have been on Gale’s cheek had faded to a mere shadow. By nightfall, it would be completely gone. Ione envied her lover for his speedy healing. If it had been her, she’d have been visibly bruised for three days, and sore for half as long. Not that Gale would ever hit her.
Come to think of it, Ione really should apologize for throwing the vase. And the punch. Gale’s actions weren’t really deserving of either. Not if she factored in the matter of him being clueless at interacting with normal people. Ione should cut him a little slack.
“As near as we could tell,” Ione answered with a shrug, and contemplated adding more details but really, she and Helene hadn’t stuck around long enough to investigate. They’d only confirmed that their help wasn’t needed and then left immediately, wary of whatever the Brigade might have left behind.
Silence swelled between them, heavy with unease. Ione quickly sought to fill it before the sound of their footsteps grew too loud.
“So… how did Ishmael get a hold of Dharva in the first place?” It was a good question, considering Ione knew how difficult of an opponent Dharva could be.
Gale tilted his head to the side, strands of white-blond hair sliding across his forehead. “Pure luck. The two patrols stumbled onto each other and Ishmael came out on top.”
Despite herself, Ione had a sudden, disturbing mental image of Ishmael and Dharva wrestling for sexual dominance. Naked. While Ione didn’t mind picturing Ishmael naked – he was attractive for all his gangly awkwardness and perfectly legal – the thought of her former captain in the buff made Ione shiver and not in a good way.
She blanched. “I see,” Ione said, and perhaps a bit too vividly or that. She cursed her imagination, known to be far too active at times.
More awkward silence descended. Ione snuck another glance at Gale who was pointedly not looking at her. She knew she needed to heed Helene’s advice and talk to Gale. Their disagreement weighed heavily on her thoughts. But more than that, she was curious about what she had just witnessed. And since Ione and Subtle had never been acquaintances, Ione knew of only one other way to ask Gale about his behavior.
“Gale?”
“Hmm?”
“What did Azriel mean about leaving things to Grayshire?” Ione asked bluntly, her voice carrying no further than their ears. “And why was Sabriel so sure he could get Dharva to talk?”
Gale visibly stiffened and drew to a halt, forcing Ione to stop as well. He chewed on his bottom lip, shifting uncomfortably, before sighing audibly. Vivid green eyes finally lifted to Ione as he looked at her.
“Sabriel used to be a member of the Special Ops,” Gale admitted quietly, looking uncomfortable at having to reveal such information. “Not just any trine, however, but one limited to nobles and chosen specifically by the Arlen family. It was an elite trine that took assignments considered too dangerous and controversial for the Special Ops and technically, it didn’t exist.”
Ione felt a discomfiting, sick sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Controversial?”
“Political assassinations. Preventative assassinations. Suicide missions. And more importantly, the keepers of Naraka.” Gale’s eyes had dropped again as though it were more than he had ever wanted to tell her.
Swallowing thickly, Ione processed the information. “What’s Naraka?”
Gale looked around nervously and reached out, hooking a hand around her elbow. “Something I can’t talk about in the middle of the hallway,” he said quietly, sounding serious, just like he had been back in the basement. This was High Lord Arlen before her right now, not the rebel Gale and her lover.
Ione had to admit that she found the dichotomy between the two to be jarring.
She allowed him to tug her gently down the hallway, no doubt to somewhere more private. They were far from their shared quarters, but the library was near and Ione wasn’t surprised when he pulled her toward it. This time of day, it was unlikely to be patroned by anyone other than Ishmael and he probably already knew this particular secret.
“Sometimes,” Gale continued quietly as they walked at a steady pace, “Grayshire wanted someone disposed of which usually meant death. But there were also cases where the information that person carried was too valuable to lose permanently. Or there were others who had been accused of treason but Grayshire had no proof. Or those that were considered dangerous but still possibly useful in the future.”
Gale pulled her into the library, the door swinging shut behind them and swallowing all sense of the sound. It was utterly silent in the library, and still, almost intimate. But Ione’s thoughts were far from sex. She didn’t like the direction Gale’s explanation was going, but could hardly tell him to stop. Truth was rarely pretty, and just because she didn’t want to hear it, didn’t mean Ione didn’t need to.
“Basically, Naraka is a containment center, a place for undesirables that couldn’t be killed, but couldn’t be allowed to roam free either.”
A few rows back and in a secluded corner, Gale finally released her arm, his eyes carefully shielded as he leaned against the bookcase behind them. “Sabriel was part of the trine that carried out Grayshire’s orders regarding those undesirables, and helped keep them in their place.”
“That’s… awful,” Ione said, words failing her. Awful didn’t even begin to cover what she wanted to say, but frankly, Ione was feeling quite speechless. Every time she thought she had come to grips with the depth of Grayshire’s misdeeds, some other truth came out to slap her in the face, taunting her with her ignorance.
Gale closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. “I told you the sorts of things my family was involved in. You even read them for yourself. Who do you think gave the order? And just who do you think carried it out, Ione?”
That sick sensation in the pit of Ione’s stomach spread through all her innards, and she knew her face had to be chalky white. She remembered their initial conversation, remembered Gale admitting why he had abandoned Grayshire, what had forced him to that decision. Ione remembered that vividly, but had never followed his words, the facts to their logical conclusion. Gale hadn’t been just a witness; he’d been involved.
“You…?”
“Sabriel was only the hand. I’m just as guilty as him for issuing the command,” Gale said, sounding tired at the memory.
Not that Ione was entirely blameless. She had defeated and hauled in countless rebels while a member of the Brigade. She’d never stopped to consider what would happen to them after she had captured them. How could she have known that they were immediately executed? Or tortured? Or kept prisoner in something like Naraka?
It struck her, just then, how very little she actually knew about Gale. Sure they’d been dating or lovers or whatever they wanted to call it for the past year. She knew that his throat was sensitive and he had a fixation on touching and being touched. She knew that he liked to read, contrary to popular belief, and that he played the piano beautifully. She knew that he was fond of grand displays of magic and he sucked at dealing with people.
But Ione hadn’t known this. She hadn’t known this other side of Gale, the darker, more Grayshire side of him that had been born and bred in nobility. She hadn’t known the side that could so calmly and coldly suggest using torture against an enemy just for a scrap of information.
To be fair, Ione hadn’t known Sabriel could be that ruthless. Or her uncle Kieran for that matter either. It made her wonder what else she had missed, what else they weren’t telling her. It made her doubt, and Ione hated that. She didn’t want to second guess herself; she didn’t want to question those she had come to see as a second family. She didn’t want to doubt.
“Ione?”
Gale sounded worried, his composure cracking, and Ione startled, realizing she had drifted off in her thoughts and how it must have looked to Gale. There was a noticeable distance between them, small but subtle, as they leaned against opposite bookcases. It must have appeared like a rejection to Gale, though Ione hadn’t intended it. Still…. She needed to process. She needed to think, and she couldn’t do it while looking right at him.
She shook her head, rubbing her hands briefly over her arms where a sudden and strange chill had suddenly overcome her. “I didn’t… I didn’t know any of this,” Ione said, her mind whirling and whirling, making her head ache and her stomach clench. A bitter laugh bubbled up in the back of her throat but she swallowed it down before Gale thought her crazy. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Gale shifted uncomfortably, and she could see his fingers flexing beneath the covering of his sleeves. He was nervous, anxious, and Ione’s less than convincing reaction wasn’t making things any better. Ione didn’t know how to fix that. Was less worried about reassuring Gale than she was her own state of mind. She didn’t want to say or do something she’d regret.
She didn’t want to doubt.
“It’s not exactly something you can bring up in casual conversation,” Gale admitted. “I couldn’t just come out and tell you, by the way, my cousin is an assassin and I told him who to kill.” His voice was edged, bitter, and he chanced a glance at her before skittering away. “It is not exactly something we’re proud of.”
Ione gathered not. She felt much the same regarding her position in the Brigade. She’d worked long and hard to prove herself, to rise and take the spot of a lieutenant. She’d bitten and clawed and fought to show those damned nobles that even a commoner could lead. But now… Ione was hard pressed to call herself proud. What had she done that was truly worthwhile? How many people had she condemned to death for no other reason than Grayshire’s wounded pride?
There was so much she didn’t know. And Ione had the feeling there was even more seething beneath the surface. Stories her uncle could tell her. Things Azriel could reveal. Maybe even Gale had deeper, darker secrets. And a small, childish part of her didn’t want to know, wanted to dance in the sunlight and pretend the world was roses just to ignore the seething blackness that crawled at her feet.
Ione sighed, and resisted the urge to rub at her temples, understanding Azriel just a bit in that moment. “I need to think,” she said, wanting to say so many other things but unable to vocalize them properly. She still liked Gale, this didn’t change the way she felt about him. But she had to admit that it might have skewed the way she looked at him, and Ione didn’t want that.
Gale stiffened, the motion subtle, but Ione had been with him long enough to read his body language like a book. He nodded slowly. “I’ll leave you alone then,” he said, and turned to go.
Ione couldn’t let him leave like that, a thousand wrong things probably dancing in the back of his mind. She reached out, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to turn and look at her. Surprise flickered across his face, his eyes such a bright green, as her lips closed over his in a sloppy kiss that was awkward considering their positioning. But Ione didn’t relent. She moved her mouth over his in familiar ways, tracing his lips with her tongue until she heard him make a small sound in his throat and finally respond. His arm curled around her, pulling her tight against him as he returned the kiss.
Ione remembered a time when Gale had been so inexperienced, when his kisses had been sloppy and messy but still good. He’d only improved in the past year, his mouth moving skillfully against her, his tongue stroking hers in all the right places. His teeth nibbling at her lips, the pressure of his mouth neither dominating nor submitting. His fingers fluttered against her back and he smelled of metal and rainstorms. He must have been sparring someone before coming down to the basement.
A moan fluttered in Ione’s throat as their bodies pressed together, warm and welcoming, Gale all long limbs and planes of muscle against her. She forgot why she was supposed to be annoyed with him, and suddenly remembered just how quiet and unoccupied the library was. Now was certainly not the time, however, so Ione stored that idea away for later reference. It was past time she introduced Gale to semi-public sex and the thrill of maybe getting caught.
Ione ended the kiss with a parting nip to his bottom lip and reluctance flooding through her. She wanted to push Gale against the bookcase and rock his world, but she also needed to think. And she couldn’t do that with her tongue shoved in his mouth.
“I just need to think,” Ione said, forcing Gale to meet her eyes, to understand before he started thinking impossibly negative things. “To digest. This doesn’t change us. I promise.”
He nodded shortly, eyes a little glazed, lips slick and begging to be kissed again. Ione refrained from doing so, knowing she’d want to carry things further if she did which would only be a stalling technique. The childish part of her that wanted to hide in the corner and pretend the world was rainbows and sparkling waters.
They could solve whatever petty argument they’d had before later. Right now, Ione needed to process, to remind herself of why she had joined the Theravada. To chase away those nagging doubts that were making her hesitate, make her question.
Ione untangled herself from Gale’s embrace and squeezing his arm affectionately, made her exit from the library, forcing down the lovely tingling in her body. She had never been with anyone who could affect her like Gale. She didn’t know if it was because their mana were compatible or because Gale was so different, or if there was something more carnal, more intrinsic about their relationship.
Inhaling slowly, Ione shook her head and tried to focus her thoughts. First, a bath, lunch, and then perhaps she could coax someone into sparring with her. Ione always thought better in the midst of fighting. Her mind cleared, the world narrowed, and her thoughts flowed free. And right now, Ione could use a little clarity.
a/n: As is always the case, we want answers until we discover what they actually are. *sigh* More answers to come, more questions, and eventually, more smut. Lots more in the future!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated!
